


Directions

by WitchWithWifi



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bed-sharing, Bellarke, Drabble, Driving, F/M, Octavia doesn't actually make an appearence, One-Shot, i guess?, in which Clarke is a stubborn fool, she's just mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-12 00:56:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7077874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchWithWifi/pseuds/WitchWithWifi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke doesn't ask for directions. Bellamy is annoyed. Their road trip takes a little longer than planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Directions

**Author's Note:**

> So, I kinda cranked this one out in a short amount of time, but hey, it wouldn't get out of my head. I'll probably go back and make it longer later, but for now, enjoy!

“Dammit, princess, why didn’t you just ask for directions?”

“Shut up, Bellamy.” Clarke said through gritted teeth, focusing on the road in front of her. Bellamy Blake was riding shotgun, leaning his curly head against the window, one hand curled over the handle attached to the ceiling, the other drumming its fingers restlessly against his knee. He’d been fidgeting non-stop since the moment he’d climbed into the car with her, shifting this way and that in his seat, and complaining about everything from the pine-tree air freshener to the songs on the radio (despite it being on his favorite station). Clarke had had it up to here with him when he’d insisted they ask for directions, and instead whirled out of the gas station with a huff of irritation.

“We wouldn’t be lost if you had just asked the guy at the station-“

“I figured out an alternative route. We're not lost.” Clarke interrupted in frustration. “And besides, it’s not my fault you let your license expire two weeks before your sister, who just happens to live halfway across the freakin’ country, went into labor.”

Her words were met with an indignant silence. Bellamy scowled, staring out the window with such an intensity, Clarke was worried it might crack under the heat of his gaze. She frowned and looked back out at the road, wondering why the hell she agreed to this. Sure, Bellamy was attractive, and maybe she'd liked him since the moment she met him when he moved into the apartment next to hers, but no matter what, they always managed to get on each other's last nerve when around each other for longer than five minutes. But still.

After half an hour of pop song after pop song filling the terse quiet between them, Bellamy spoke up again. “Thanks, princess. You didn’t have to do this.” His words were reluctant, but genuine.

Surprised, Clarke turned her head to look at him. His tan, freckled face looked like it was made of gold in the light of the sunset, and his dark eyes sparkled as they stared off into the distance. “It’s no problem. And yes, I did.” She finally replied, turning to look determinedly at the road because her stomach most certainly didn't to a flip at seeing him looking so perfectly serene in the fading sunlight.

“What do you mean?”

“Octavia’s your sister, Bellamy. As much as you piss me off, you still should still be able to be with her when she needs you. And vice versa. Plus, she’ll kick both of our asses if we’re not there.” 

Bellamy was quiet for a moment, and she could practically feel his warm eyes on her, before he let out a quiet chuckle, before resettling back into his seat.

They drove through sunset and into the dark, but the air between them was much more relaxed. Bellamy offered up some anecdotes about the antics he and his sister used to get up to as kids, and Clarke found herself genuinely enjoying them, laughing out loud or gasping as his stories twisted their way around her mind, painting pictures more lively than the one of the road in front of her.

It was nearing midnight when Clarke found her eyelids beginning to droop, but she shook her head, forcing herself to focus. Bellamy had dozed off about a half an hour ago, but he stirred as she groaned in frustration.

“Princess?” Bellamy’s voice was thick with sleep.

“Go back to sleep, Blake.” She replied shortly, leaning forward to read the sign they were passing. “We’re almost to Chicago. If we keep going, we should be to the hospital in a couple hours.”

She heard Bellamy sit up straighter. “If we keep going, we’re going to be dead because you’re about to fall asleep at the wheel.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bellamy's face light up blue as he checked his phone.

Even as he spoke, Clarke shook her head. Her messy ponytail swished against her sore neck. Blinking was getting a little bit harder with every passing moment. “Octavia-“

“Just texted me. Well, Lincoln did. She’s still in labor. You need to sleep, princess. I’d like to arrive at the hospital in this car, not an ambulance. Look, just pull over at the next rest stop. Just take an hour for a power nap. Please, Clarke.”

Clarke hesitated. Bellamy never said please. He said things like "Give me the goddamn remote or I swear I'll burn all of your scrubs" or "The next time my coffee maker breaks, I'm my other neighbor to use his." Sometimes, he said "Kindly return the documentaries I know you stole back to my apartment," but he never said  _please_. "Fine."

Bellamy smiled.

Five minutes later, Clarke peeled off the highway and into the nearly-deserted parking lot of a rest stop advertising a McDonald’s and an ice cream store. She turned off the engine, and immediately missed the heat that had been blasting from the vents a moment ago. 

She suppressed a shiver, but Bellamy seemed to be reading her mind. “You cold, princess?” She could barely make out his figure in the dim light, but his eyes still twinkled faintly.

Clarke was about to deny it, and claim she was fine, but realized there was no point. “Well, we all can’t be furnaces like you.” She quipped playfully, though her fingertips were already chilly.

“Don’t you have a blanket or something?”

“Yeah, in the trunk, but-“

Bellamy was already crawling over the console past her, clumsily tumbling over the back seats into the large space of her trunk. She heard him fumbling around for a few moments before calling “I can’t find it- are you sure it’s back here?”

“I’m positive- it’s in a huge bag, how can’t you find it?”

“Princess, you have like ten bags back here.”

“They’re for my art class!”

“I don’t care what they’re for- they don’t contain a blanket, just paintbrushes and canvasses.”

Clarke growled in frustration, and hauled herself over the seats until she tumbled into the trunk next to Bellamy, nearly poking her eye out with a paintbrush jutting out of a bag when her head landed a little too near one of the bags of paint supplies. She sat up quickly, trying to ignore the fact that the trunk was a little too small for the both of them, and they were a little too close, and he was a little too warm, and that every brush of their arms sent electric shocks running throughout her entire body. She sat frozen for a moment, briefly forgetting about anything but the fact that she and Bellamy Blake were closer than they’d ever been, and it wasn’t all that bad. Not bad at all.

“So, show me where this nonexistent bag is.” Bellamy challenged her teasingly, jolting Clarke out of her thoughts.

“Oh. Right.” Clarke reached out, sifting blindly through the pile of paintbrushes and canvases until her fingers finally landed on the smooth fabric of her old overnight bag. “Aha!” She said triumpnantly, dragging it out from underneath the mess, tossing the other art supplies haphazardly over the seat as she did. She pulled the soft, but thin, blanket out, and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Read it and weep, Blake.”

She felt Bellamy reach out, and touch it, carefully avoiding actual skin-on-skin contact with her. “That’s no blanket, princess. It’s hardly a sheet.”

“It’s a blanket, Bellamy. It says so on the tag.”

“You need something better if you’re gonna sleep in this car. You’re going to freeze to death.”

“I don’t _have_ anything better, Bellamy.” Clarke reached into her bag again and found her gym t-shirt, balling it up as a pillow, and shifted away from Bellamy, lying down facing the back window. Exhaustion hit her with renewed force, and she almost didn’t notice the shuffling or movements until she felt Bellamy tugging her blanket- okay, her _sheet_ \- out from under her. “Bell, what the hell-“

“Go to sleep, princess.” He said, and before she could retort, he wrapped an arm around her middle, scooting closer until her back was pressed up against his (undeniably warm) chest, and readjusted the sheet-blanket so that it was lying over both of them.

Clarke was too stunned to move. Bellamy, who she usually couldn’t stand to be in the same room with. Bellamy, who once started an argument with her over his choice to put milk in his coffee. Bellamy, gruff and temperamental Bellamy, was now snuggling with her. Well, as snuggly as Bellamy could get, at least. After a moment, she let herself relax into his arms, not realizing how tense she’d been. 

“Just for tonight.” She murmured, as much to herself as to him.

“Just for tonight, princess.” He agreed.

(They said that every night for the next year until he finally suggested they make the arrangement permanent.)


End file.
